


Letting Go Of The Past

by PeachGlitch



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Anger, F/M, Hidden Feelings, Mutual Pining, Post S4, Regret, Unresolved Tension, eventual domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGlitch/pseuds/PeachGlitch
Summary: Nicola and Malcolm bump into each other two years after the Goolding Inquiry.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

A less observant man would of totally overlooked the petite middle aged woman, who swooped into the cafe at precisely 9:05 on a drizzly Wednesday morning.

There was nothing particularly special about her. From her rain drenched, shoulder length brunette hair. To her plain, grey duster coat. Even her bland choice of footwear, made her blend into the background of the busy morning rush of patrons.

But Malcolm had always been vigilant by nature. He was trained to notice things, that to any other average man would seem as mundane or un important. Perhaps it was his experience working in government that had given him this gift. Having to detect any sign of in coming trouble, making him, even now keep an eagle eyed watch over the seemingly unremarkable woman who’d entered his line of sight. 

That’s the thing though. She _isn’t_ unremarkable, not really. She’s Nicola Murray and she’d just walked straight passed his table. Oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. It makes him grin to himself. That even now, two years on she’s still as incognisant to her surroundings as ever.

From where he is sitting he’s close enough to the front counter to hear her exasperated voice, as she orders what she wants. “Lemon zinger, and _uhm_ ,” she pauses, and although he can’t see her face anymore he’s sure she’s squinting to look at the menu board on the wall. He remembers pointing out once that she needed reading glasses. Clearly his advice was still being ignored. “Just the lemon zinger actually. Thank you.” She decides finally, then makes a move to reach into her hand bag for her purse.

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at her indecisiveness. Whilst simultaneously feeling nostalgic at her choice of beverage. Yet another example of how little she has changed since their last encounter. But maybe she didn’t really need to change any longer. Whilst working in DoSac and then as leader of the opposition, she definitely needed to. Now he had no idea what she was up to, but whatever it was, she had to be far better suited to it than the cut through world of government. Nicola actually cared about people, cared about making a difference in the zest pit world they lived in. And that had been her downfall. That and her disorganised, sometimes neurotic personality.

“Thank you.” He hears her say again as the server hands her change over. There’s a hint of softness in her voice. One that tells him she actually means it. Even if the young girl behind the counter is simply doing her job. 

The sound of her voice took him back to when they would interact on an almost daily basis. Back then he’d found it shrill and unrelenting. Now he feels comforted by it. Malcolm finds himself feeling unsettled that something so small, could illicit such an emotional response from deep inside him. 

A waiter comes up, and asks if he wants anything else. He actually had intended on leaving, instead he orders another coffee and leans back in his chair. 

Nicola has since moved further away. And waits patiently for her drink. Her hands are clasped tighter at her front. Her nails are painted a plumish sort of colour, not professionally done he can tell even from a distance. But certainly not any sort of colour he’d ever seen on her before. It’s while he’s looking at her nails, his eyes trail over her fingers and notices an absence of a ring around a certain finger of her left hand. Truthfully he’s not entirely surprised. He’d never met the infamous James Murray, but from what he’d heard of him he did not like. What is a revelation is that Nicola had actually taken the initiative to do something about her dismal marriage. That is assuming it was her doing in the first place. 

When her drink is placed on the counter in front of her, her expression is somewhat panicked. He realises that she’d meant to order her tea to go, but had failed to specify that whilst ordering. So now she is stuck with a porcelain cup and saucer in front of her. A rational person would say something and rectify the situation, but he knew that Nicola would never do that. After her momentary blip, she smiles and takes the tray off of the counter. As she does he sees some of the tea spill over the edge of the cup, staining the side of it. 

He suppresses a smirk as she turns around to face the bustling cafe. It’s not a franchise, simply a local cafe, well as local as you can get in the middle of London anyway. He frequented it often, but he’s not seen her here before. So he knows as she scans around looking for an empty table, that at this time of day they will be scarce. 

Her hazel eyes pass over him as they search for somewhere to sit. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. Until her eyes suddenly dart back towards him and widen ever so slightly. 

He stands up and motions towards the chair opposite his, “I think you better take a seat, Nicola. Before you spill any more of your lemon zinger.” 

She hesitates, before slowly approaching the table. Once she’s close enough he takes the tray from her and carefully places it down. Around the same time the waiter returns with his second drink and places it on the table, before leaving them alone again. Malcom sits down, Nicola stays standing. “Jesus H Christ, sit down will you.” He mutters. “Not like you’ve got any other options.” Which in reality is a lie. Behind her he sees a couple vacate their table, but she didn’t need to know that.

Finally, rather begrudgingly, she does sit. “Why... _you_ , I mean, what are you doing here, Malcolm?” She manages to stutter out, her voice lacking its earlier warmth. 

“Building a block of flats.” He replies sarcastically. When she continues to stare at him impassively, he sighs. “Just having my morning coffee.” He shrugs, then reaches forward to take a sip of the hot drink. 

“I’ve never seen you drink coffee. Shouldn’t that be a Fanta or I don’t know the blood of the innocent?” She retorts, and it almost feels as if they’re back in DoSac. If it wasn’t for the lacklustre way which she regards him. 

He still chuckes under his breath though. “Aye. I suppose leaving government behind has changed me. Besides I only drink the blood of the innocent on weekends.” He adds with a smirk. Nicola doesn’t smile back, she just sort of hums in response, before reaching for her own drink. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. It’s oddly enjoyable, apart from the coldness he senses from her each time her eyes glance at him. He can’t really blame her, the last time they’d seen each other it was in Dan Millers office and he had ripped into her her like never before. Plus he’d conspired behind her back to get rid of her, even though he’d pushed her into the position of leader to begin with. It makes him tired, thinking of all the situations he had manipulated back when he was still working. He doesn’t regret any of it, not even they way he’d treated her. It was necessary and she was useless. What he did regret he supposed is the way things were left. Of all the ministers he’d worked with throughout his careers, no one had left a mark on him as much as Nicola. 

“So what does a former leader of the opposition do after stepping down?” He hears himself ask, then grimaces at his own question. 

Nicola’s holding her cup up to her lips, and frowns at him. “Like you don’t already know.” She responds, before taking a sip. 

It’s a fair assumption, but he’d made a point of staying out of the loop since the Goolding Inquiry, and his subsequent sacking. “Believe it or not Nicola, my file on you these days is non existent.” He admits, and her frown only deepens.

“Yeah and pigs can suddenly fly.” She bites back, before placing her cup down. “Really, Malcolm. Why do you care about what I’m doing? It’s not like you to make small talk with anyone. Let alone someone you made quite clear you cannot stand.”

“Fuck. Can a man not make idle chit chat with you these days, without getting his head bitten off? That explains the lack of a wedding ring on your finger anymore.” It comes natural to him to be cruel. He’s out of practice, but he’s still as cutting as ever. 

Her regrets it immediately though. Especially when Nicola drops her left hand on her lap to hide it. Her cheeks go red and she shakes her head. “I don’t need this.” She hisses, as she makes a move to get up. 

His hand reaches forward, and he places it over her right one that’s still on the table. Stopping her. “No. You don’t. Look, shit Nicola, just ignore what I just said.” He tries, and his thumb traces a small circle over the back of her hand. “Stay?” He asks, in the same tone that had stopped her from going to America. 

He doesn’t know what does it. Maybe she recognised that tone of voice as well. He feels her relax beneath his hand. She nods, and he moves his hand away. 

Another silence settles over them, until this time it’s Nicola who breaks it. “It has to be a bad cosmic joke.” She says out of nowhere. 

He looks at her quizzically. “What is?”

She motions absentmindedly with her hand before answering. “This. I mean I’ve not set foot in London for nearly a year and a half and the one day I come back, I bump into you. I only stepped off the train half an hour ago and poof! You appear in front of me.” 

“Of all the gin joints in the world, eh?” He quotes some old black and white film that he can’t quite remember the name of.

Nicola ducks her head, but not before he catches the half smile on her face. 

“So you’re not living here now?” He enquires, genuinely interested. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a nice quite place in Eastbourne?” He teases.

She’s still looking down, and if Malcolm had to guess, he’d say she was debating how much information about her personal life she wanted to divulge. “Me and the kids have moved in with my sister.” She says quietly. “It was only supposed to be temporary, but life happens I guess. Her house is big enough, and she lives, lived,” she corrects herself, “alone. I think she enjoys company. So it worked out quite well.” 

Malcolm nods, aware that she’d answered his question without expanding on her actual location. He doesn’t press her for more details. “That’s _good.”_ He says. “I’m glad.”

“What about you? I’m surprised you’re still in London. Aren’t you like some sort of paraiah now?” She asks, and he glares at her. Though he’s more amused at her slip up, than actually annoyed. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean that.” She says after realising her blunder.

He laughs. “Aye, you did. But don’t worry I’ve been called worse.” He reassures her, then takes another sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “And it’s the terms of my, shall we say lack of incarceration.” Malcolm sticks his leg out from under the table and discreetly lifts the bottom of his trouser leg. A solid black ankle tag is strapped around it, a friendly reminder of his past transgression. 

“I...I didn’t know,” Nicola says in a way which tells him she’s being truthful. “I mean I heard that you were fired, but I wasn’t sure what happened after. I didn’t really want to stick around.” 

“Yeah well, considering everything I’ve ever done I got off lightly.” He says as he moves his leg back under the table. “Two more months and it goes away at least.”

“Will you move away after then?” 

Malcolm shrugs his shoulders, “who knows. I’ve been working on a memoir. Might stick around for some PR, then fuck off back to Scotland once I’ve made enough money to live in obscurity.” 

Nicola looks concerned. “Oh god, I suppose I’ll be making a brief appearance in it? How much do you want, to erase that part of your life from your masterpiece?” She jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness beneath the levity. 

“Couldn’t forget about you if I tried.” He says, and any amusement from her face vanishes just like that. 

They are both silent for a long moment, finishing their drinks respectively. He keeps watching her covertly over the rim of his cup. Studies her features properly. She doesn’t look as exhausted as he last remembers. Even with the tension between them, she seems more relaxed than two years ago. Her hair is long again, like it had been when he’d introduced himself to her. He notices a few greys peeping through among the chestnut. He wonders if she’ll be like him, or more than likely she’ll dye it. She looks good, he decides. Better than good, actually. His eyes fall on her lips, and he smiles then shakes his head.

“What?” She asks bluntly as she puts her empty cup back down on the table. 

“Nothing. It’s good to see you again, Nicola.” He replies, honestly and quickly. “I always wondered if we’d cross paths again, and here we are, having drinks together like two normal fucking human beings. Like old friends.”

“Well, I wish I could say the same.” She says, as she starts to gather her bag abruptly. She picks it up off the floor and the strap hangs from her shoulder again. “I’m glad you’ve found some peace, that you’re all zen now, but we aren’t friends, Malcolm. We never were and now I have to go.” Her voice is clipped as she starts to get up. This time he doesn’t stop her. “Goodbye, Malcolm.” 

She picks up her empty cup, and takes it over on the tray back to the counter. Because even when she wants to storm off quickly, Nicola still had manners. He watches as she gives her thanks to the same young girl who served her earlier. Then when she walks past his table again, she doesn’t give him a second look. 

Malcolm sits for the longest time. He stares at the vacant seat opposite of him. Whatever floral scent she sprays on herself still lingers around, it reminds him more of the past. He decides then, to get up and follow her. 

The slight drizzle has turned into a downpour, so he’s not really that surprised to find Nicola standing quite near by. She’s taken shelter in the doorway of a closed shop, and is looking up at the sky with a penasive expression. 

Ignoring the unrelenting droplets, he goes to her. “I take it you don’t have an umbrella?” 

She looks at him, for a few seconds before replying. “The weather app on my phone said it would just be cloudy.” She says, with an expression that dares him to criticise her. If she’s surprised he’d followed her out, she doesn’t show it. Just stands there, holding her coat closed around herself. He realises, he’d left his in the cafe. And his casual shirt, was getting more sodden, the more he stood there. 

Nicola must notice as well, so she slides a little to the left, “here, before you look even more like a drowned rat.” 

He moves towards the doorway, they both fit snugly, but their biceps are pressed together somewhat. Not to much for it to be uncomfortable, but it’s contact.

“Malcolm.” She says his name, almost sadly. He turns his head to look down at her. “You were an absolute bastard.” She adds bitterly. 

He sighs, “aye, can’t argue there.” He admits, and feels her shift slightly next to him. 

Nicola tilts her head to look up at him. “I mean it. What you did to me, what you said in front of Dan Miller, I hate you for that. It’s one thing tearing me to pieces alone, for good reason. But doing it just to show off in front of your new prized pig was something else. _That_ was just plain malicious.” 

Malcolm feels something closely associated with guilt. He’d rationalised their interaction down to just plain politics. And if she was hurt by it, then it was her problem. But Nicola _was_ hurt and there was nothing he could do to change that. “Would it help for me to say it wasn’t personal?” 

She just scoffs at that and look away again. “It makes it worse actually.” 

The street in front of them starts to get busier, despite the rain. Malcolm turns his attention to the hustle and bustle, as he tries to to comprehend what she means by that. 

“I have an interview to get to.” Nicola blurts out. This catches his attention. She doesn’t specify what type of interview. Given her hatred of public speaking, he doubted it was anything tv related. So he assumes she means a job. He won’t hammer her for details though, not right now anyway. It sounds as if she wants to end the conversation, and be done with him once and for all. 

“I could come back though.” She suggests cautiously. “Afterwards. I could come here, we can have a real drink.” 

“Do you _want_ to come back?” He asks. 

She hesitates. “I want to talk to you properly. To move on. I’ve wasted too much energy hating you.” 

“I’ll be here.” Malcolm doesn’t have to think of a response this time. 

“Mid-day?” 

“Mid-day.”

The rain starts to ease a little, “you better go, before the rain gets bad again.” 

She nods. “Right.” She says, then takes a step forward. Malcolm remains in the doorway. He watches her take a few more steps, before she turns around again. “I’ve missed you, Malcolm. Even though I was angry.” She says softly, far more softly than he deserves.

He exhales a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He wants to tell her that he’s missed her as well, but he doesn’t want to sound contrary. The depth of his feelings, ran far deeper than a simple admittance like that. 

Instead he walks up to her, she looks nervous and bites her bottom lip. He reaches forward and brushes back a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. As he does, she closes her eyes momentarily. Then opens them, just as he speaks. 

“Go. I’ll be waiting.” He says as he drops his hand back down. 

She smiles. It’s the first genuine one he’s seen from her since they started talking. Then she reluctantly walks in the opposite direction. 

Malcolm watches, she glances over her shoulder at him once, then keeps walking. 

It’s not until she’s completely out of sight, Malcolm looks away.


	2. The Sun Will Shine Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Nicola have a conversation. Neither of them know how to fix the situation. Until they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was meant to be a one-shot. But I couldn’t resist rounding the story off properly.

Two years ago had Malcolm been inclined to order Nicola a drink, he would of done so without a second thought. Pino Grigio, a small one, due to her inability to pace herself whilst drinking at any sort of work gathering. Sometimes, if she was more anxious than usual he’d even get her the non alcoholic wine on offer. If she noticed, she never said anything.

Now faced with the task of ordering for her, he finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t want to seem presumptions. Doesn’t want her to think that he wants her to get tipsy, which for a lightweight like Nicola, wasn’t in the realm of impossibility; even with just one glass of white wine. But she had mentioned having a “real” drink earlier, which indicated something alcoholic. Christ, he thinks to himself, since when had he turned into such an over thinker? If this is what it’s like to be Nicola, who’s mind was prone to over analysis on a daily basis, no wonder she wasn’t cut out for cut throat government work.

“Did you want anything else?” Her hears the man behind the counter ask. Malcolm snaps out of his thoughts, he glances down at the Diet Coke, no ice but with lemon he’d ordered himself, then back up at the man. He was being polite because it was his job, but Malcolm could tell he wanted to move on to the next patron. “I’ll have another Diet Coke, with ice this time. And a small Pino Grigio, cheers.” He decides on finally.

Once he’s paid for the drinks he heads off to find a table. This time, he finds one in the corner of the cafe/bar. It’s not quite as busy as earlier, but he settles for a booth, rather than an open table in the middle of the place. After placing the drinks down, and sitting, he whips out his phone. The blackberry is long gone, replaced with an iPhone 7. The time on the home screen shows 11:51am, and he has a text from his sister. He opens it, and smiles as he looks down at a drawing his niece has made. They used to adorn his otherwise bleak office at Downing Street. She’s getting older, so he doubts there’ll be many more, so makes a point of saving each photo sent to him. A reminder, that the world, wasn’t always a dreary place.

After replying, he keeps his phone in his pocket. Takes out the straw from his drink, and takes a sip. He’d gone for a very long walk after Nicola had departed for her interview. There’d been no point heading home, besides he needed time to think. He was under no illusions that this would be a pleasant conversation. That although he’d seen glimpses of the old Nicola before, she’d also changed in a way that was entirely his fault. She was more guarded, less trusting and less like the woman who’d walked into DoSAC in an inappropriately loud dress, filled with insane aspirations all those years ago.

He missed those days, they’d been simpler. Even if at the time he hadn’t taken a step back to appreciate it. He missed _her_. Back when she trusted him, maybe even felt comfortable around him. She had to of, deep down. Her remembers when she’d fall asleep in the car next to him after meetings, or public appearances. Or when she’d take her heels off in his office, and sit there bare foot in her tights, as he berated her for another dismal display of incompetence. He can’t pin point when exactly that all had stopped, but he could guess it was around the time he’d made the decision he wanted her out. He’d made a point of ignoring her texts and calls, and his advice became non existent. Nicola wasn’t a stupid woman. Scatty and disorganised, yes, but not unintelligent. She would of known that something had changed as well. Hence why the late night calls and falling asleep during car rides gradually because things of the past.

A noise captures Malcom’s attention. He looks up, feels a pang of disappointment when he sees two strangers walk in, not Nicola. He pulls out his phone again. It’s exactly midday, the time they’d agreed on meeting. His mind starts to wonder if Nicola had changed her mind. Or perhaps it was her plan all along, to stand him up and make him feel ridiculous. She’d never been cruel like that, maybe this was just an example of another way she’d changed. He gives her the benefit of doubt though, and takes another sip of coke. This time he puts his phone down on the table, if she’s not here by ten past, then he will leave.

It gets to 12:09 when finally his eyes catch sight of familiar brown hair, through the window near the entrance of the place. Whatever serum she’d used to smooth down her wild locks, has well and truly worn off by now. Not helped by the rain, and wind of mid October. When Nicola walks in, she looks flustered, and more like her old self than this morning. Her left hand tries to brush through her hair, as her eyes dart around. A waiter approaches her, then points towards the booth he’s sat in. He grins at her when she notices him. She doesn’t smile back, just nods her thanks to the waiter and walks over to the table.

“I’m sorry I’m late I uhm-” she starts to say as she removes her duster coat. She’s wearing a cream coloured blouse beneath, it’s tucked into a black, high waisted pencil skirt. After folding her coat, and siting down finally, she carries on talking. “The interview ran longer than I expected.” Malcolm can tell she’s lying straight away. Although as to why, he can’t think.

“I was starting to think you’d stood me up.” He half jokes, as he tucks his phone away again. “How did it go anyway?” He asks, trying to keep to neutral ground for now.

She sighs, then shakes her head. “As well as interviews go.” She replies coolly, then frowns when she finally notices the drinks in front of her. “Malcolm, why have you brought me two drinks?” She asks without any preamble.

He shrugs, “didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.” He answers honestly, “so now you have a choice.”

Nicola’s eyes glint with something, he’s not quite sure what. She mutters something under her breath, which sounds like, ‘makes a change.’

He watches, until she finally reaches for the wine and takes a large gulp. So the interview didn’t go that well then. She takes another sip, and he wants to tell her to slow down. But feels as if he’s lost any right to bark orders at her, so remains silent.

“I didn’t think it would be this difficult.” Nicola says. One hand is on the table, while the other plays with the rim on her glass. She’d never been able to sit still, especially when she was nervous. “I thought I’d just unload all the pent up anger I’ve harboured for you over the last two years and be done.” She explains, keeping her eyes trained on her wine and not at him. “Fuck, is it possible that even now, you’ve got some weird hold over me? One that renders me into a total shambles when I just want to get my point across.”

Malcolm isn’t really sure if she wants an answer. She won’t look at him, which is irratting. Especially when he hasn’t looked away from her since the moment she re entered the cafe. “Whatever power you might think I have, or had is long gone, Nicola. I am no longer the all seeing eye of Downing Street.” He says, almost whimsically. Life was quieter now, calmer. But sometimes he missed his old one. “You can say what you like.” He adds, as he dismisses his nostalgia.

“That’s the thing though, I can’t decide what exactly it is I want to say.” Nicola’s voice quivers slightly. “You ruined my life. Stunted any chance of progression I had in my career. Destroyed my self esteem and I even let you decide on the length of my sodding hair.” She laughs at that last point. But it sounds more bitter than jovial.

“It’s grown back.” Malcolm blurts, and Nicola finally looks at him. Her hand moves from the glass to absentmindedly twirl a finger around the ends of her tresses. “I like it long.” Malcom goes on, not knowing really why he needs her to know that. As for her other comments, he wants to argue that again, it was politics. But she speaks before he can do just that.

“Yours isn’t far behind.” She points out, looking the tiniest bit amused.

Malcolm knows what she means. His hair, although not long, was not as trimmed as it had been. He resembles a mad professor, rather than a clean cut number 10 employee these days. “Aye, well without Sam to organise my life, and appointments, I’ve had to make do with this new image.”

The amusement vanishes from Nicola’s face, she looks as if she feels sorry for him. “Do you still keep in touch?” She asks, her fingers flex, as if she’s fighting the urge to reach out and place her hand over his in a show of comfort. “I know you liked her. She was the only person you showed a morsel of genuine care for at work. I hope you haven’t lost touch.” She doesn’t sound sarcastic. Malcolm wishes she was, because he had lost touch with his favourite employee a long time ago. Probably for the best, he would of on taken her down with him at some point. Guilt by association and all that.

“I see her around now and again.” He lies, and Nicola knows it.

“Don’t do that.” She says, trying to sound stern but just sounds whiny more than anything. “Why lie?”

“You lied about your interview going well,” he counters. “Don’t forget I can read you like a book. Your tell, if you’re interested is every time you lie, the corner of your mouth twitches.” He mimics it, just for show. The apples of Nicola’s cheeks turn a pinkish hue, as she glares at him.

“If you know me so well, how come you didn’t know what to order me to drink?” She bites back, motioning between the two beverages in front of her. “And I don’t like coke by the way.” Her mouth doesn’t twitch this time, so she’s not being petulant out of spite at least.

“I said I could read you like a book. Not that I give two shits about what drinks you may or may not enjoy.”

“Then why bother getting two different ones if it matters so little?” She counters defensively.

“For _fuck_ sake. Are we really discussing this right now? I can already feel a Nicola Murray induced migraine coming on. Christ, I almost forgot what it’s like to interact with someone who’s main form of defence is to behave like a shity little toddler in a playground.” He shouts, and she flinches a little. His tirade although no where as harsh as if had been in Dan Millers office, was unwarranted. And really not that truthful. He’d always enjoyed their back and forth bickering, sometimes full on arguments. She could hold her own, until he’d utterly broken her. “Sorry.” He mumbles, after realising she hadn’t taken the bait this time. “Really, Nicola. I’m sorry.” He says again, reaching over to trace his finger over the back of her hand. “And not just for what I just said.”

Nicola scrutinises him for the longest time, as if she’s trying to establish the deeper meaning behind his apology. “Why did you turn on me so viciously. Was it just to show off to Dan Miller or was it something else?” He’d been expecting it, but the question still catches him off guard. “I thought,” she laughs under her breath, looks down at his hand over hers, then back up to him. “You’re going to think I’m mad. But I thought, that beneath it all we were at least friends. That if you had lost all faith in me as leader, then you could of been honest. You didn’t have to humiliate and railroad me out of my position.”

Malcolm sighs, again. This was yet another example of why Nicola stood out from all the other Ministers he’d worked with. She was emotional and she cared. Malcolm could tell she genuinely meant it when she said she’d thought they were friends. It was naive, and back then he would of berated her for it, if he’d known. Nicola was, and always would be an empath. And right now, he is greatful for that fact. Without it, he wouldn’t stand a chance with ever forming a meaningful relationship with her again. “I don’t have answers for you, darlin’,” the term of endearment slips off his tongue naturally. “None that will mean anything profound anyway. Just that it was my job to be a cunt. That back then I’d of murdered my own mother, if it meant getting to the end goal that benefited myself, and the party. And yeah, back then I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Didn’t realise what a fucking idiot I was, until it was to late. Jesus, I sound like a fucking, shit romance novel.” He says, grimacing.

Nicola smiles, then subtly upturns her hand so she can hold onto his properly. “I read romance novels.” She replies quietly, “and trust me, you’re not even close.” She quips with a smirk.

“Of course you do.” He says, with an eye roll. He wonders what it would be like to spend a normal evening with her. He can imagine himself brushing his teeth in an en suite, while she sits up in bed, reading a book. Hopefully with a pair of ready readers, until he crawls next to her on the bed, and peppers the side of her face with kisses, until the book is long forgotten. It’s cliche, but not unrealistic. And Malcolm finds himself longing for it.

“I didn’t understand why I was so hurt until later.” She says sombrely, though doesn’t move her hand from his. “That night, after I got home. The kids were asleep because it was late, but James was up. He couldn’t wait to taunt me, to tell me what a daft, useless wife I was, but I wasn’t fazed. It occurred to me, that I was more upset by you than I was my own husband. Which made me re think lot of things. But I understood in that moment, why I was hurt.”

Malcolm entwines their fingers, so he can squeeze a little. His finger brushes over where her wedding ring used to be. “Why?” He presses, it suddenly feels like the most important thing he’s ever needed to know.

“Because, I love y-you.” She answers, unable to disguise he nervousness. Her eyes look away from his, and he can tell she feels self conscious. As if she’s waiting for him to laugh at her or something.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, Malcolm?” He realises then, that he’s been sitting there in silence for good few minutes.

“Eastbourne.” He blurts.

Her eyebrows draw in confusion. “Wha-

“I thought it was the dress.” He interrupts. “Then I thought it was the way you trusted me in the bathroom. I think that was the first time we hugged.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re going on about.”

“I’m trying to tell you, that I fucking loved you since that day, you impossible woman.” He barks, though doesn’t mean to.

Her eyebrows almost hit her hairline at that. “But...I...really? Eastbourne. That... _that_.”

“It’s why I was so harsh. After that, I pushed the thought away into the deep crevices of my unhinged mind. I couldn’t afford to have thoughts like that, especially about a married minister. Fuck, especially you.” He explains rationally. Though has never felt more exposed in his life.

Nicola continues to stare at him, her mouth opens, then closes. Then she just laughs, “oh, bloody hell, Malcom.” She says in between giggles. “What a pair we make.”

Malcolm can’t help but join in her laughter, albeit it’s quieter than hers. “So.” He says after a while, “what the fuck do we do now?”

Nicola shrugs, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to finish my wine.” She announces, matter of factly. Her eyes glance over to the window, it’s clearly brisk outside but the sun is out now at least. “Then I want to go for a walk, and tell you all about my crappy interview, not so crappy divorce and everything in between. After that I want you to tell me everything that’s happened in your life these last two years.”

“And then?” Christ, he sounds hopeful, Malcolm muses.

“And then, we move on Malcolm. Slowly, but together, if it’s something we both still want.” She says, never once moving her hand from his.

* * *

** 4 Years Later. **

Malcolm is drenched by the time he makes it home. He’d actually almost slipped on the steps which led up to his modest town house. Which had led to a tangent of explicits, until he finally calmed down and carried on towards the front door.

As soon as he opens it, he’s engulfed by warmth and the smell of a scented Yankee Candle. It’s overpowering and somewhat sickly, but he doesn’t really mind it as much as he likes to pretend he does.

He shakes the rain off of his coat, before hanging it up alongside another one. Then dumps his keys next to a plant pot, on the small table nearby. A smile ghosts over his lips, as he catches sight of the photo frame next to the plant. It’s him with four kids, all of which have a mop of dark hair and hazel eyes. They’re laughing as they pile around him, as he poses next to a birthday cake.

“Malcolm is that you?” A familiar voice calls from the direction of the living room. He wants to roll his eyes. Who else had keys? And had he been a burgular, does she really think they’d respond.

He follows the sound, until he’s standing at the threshold of the door. The earlier scent, is much stronger. His bleary eyes read ‘cinnamon stick’ on the label of the candle on the coffee table. Of course she’d pick out something like that. It was nearly Christmas, and Nicola Murray was more obsessed with the festive time of year, than he’d ever realised before living with her.

The woman in question is lying with her back against one of the arms of the sofa. Her slipper clad feet up on the cushions, as she reads from a kindle he brought her on their first anniversary of being a real couple. And yes, she’s finally wearing a pair of reading glasses. Not just off the peg ones, but ones prescribed by an actual opticians, he’d dragged her to years ago now. “The ghost of Christmas past, at your service.” He announces, as he rounds the sofa.

She bends her legs so he can sit on the other side. Then drapes them over his lap, without question. She hums under her breath, but doesn’t look up from whatever she’s so engrossed in reading.

Malcolm closes his eyes and relaxes for the first time that day. His fingers curl around her ankles, and draw idle circles over her skin. “How did it go?” She asks absentmindedly.

He keeps his eyes closed as he answers, “they were eating out of my hand.” He responds smugly, “did you expect anything less? I might be six years out of practice, but I still know how to work a room full of press.”

Nicola keeps reading for a bit before responding. Then her fingers prod at the touch screen device and she lowers it down until it’s against her chest. “After all the work you’ve done on your book, I don’t think they’d dare say otherwise. I’m sure they loved reading all the secrets of your time in Govermant.” She comments as she reaches for a glass of half drank Bailey’s on the coffee table.

“They seemed more interested in my life after, specifically my life with former minister and leader of the opposition, Nicola Murray.” He says as he watches her after opening his eyes again.

Nicola rolls her eyes, places the glass back down and finally takes off her glasses. They’ve left small marks on either side of the bridge of her nose. “The fact that I’m still referred as any of those things by certain people makes me shudder. Feels like a lifetime ago now.”

“Aye, Nicola Murray, University Lecturer, suits you better. I told them all to fuck off anyway.” He says with a grin, as she half heartedly shoves a foot towards his chest.

“I hope you didn’t. I don’t want to be the cause of the declining sales of your new book.”

“The only thing that could cause that, is the chapter my publisher made me put in about Dan Miller. It’s enough to drive a T total saint, to drink. The man was as interesting as a potato. Still is, if I’d have to hazard a guess.”

Nicola chuckles her her breath, then nods in agreement. “You’re looking forward to the backlash, I can tell.”

“I just like knowing that even far away from the shithole that is Downing Street, I can still ruffle a few feathers, that’s all.”

“Hm, well as long as you aren’t tempted to go back. I’m sure life now seems pretty boring compared to-

“Stop it, Nicola.” He interrupts her abruptly. Before manovering her legs off of him, just so her can scoot over closer to to her. She smiles, and moves to him as well, so she can wrap her arm over his chest and rest her head at the crook of his shoulder. The kindle long forgotten somewhere on the sofa. “I wouldn’t change this for anything.” He says quietly, before kissing the top of her head.

Nicola sighs contently, “good.”

They sit like that, comfortably enjoying the shared silence, until the doorbell rings. “That’ll be James with the kids.” Nicola mumbles against his shirt, before making a move to get up. She pecks the corner of his mouth, leaving behind the taste of Bailey’s on his lips.

Nicola smoothes down the front of her cotton pyjama top, then turns towards the door. Malcolm watches her, content in knowing that she wasn’t going to disappear from his life this time.


End file.
